


open up the door and hurry out in the hall

by quibbler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, new neighbours au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quibbler/pseuds/quibbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz has a new neighbor and he's not looking forward to meeting her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	open up the door and hurry out in the hall

**Author's Note:**

> Since biochemistry and engineering are such broad fields and canon doesn't give us their specialties (because come on, you have to have concentrations in science fields or it just doesn't work), I'm taking some liberties with their careers.
> 
> Title is from Liza Minelli's Ring Them Bells. Un-betaed, and I don't anything!

When the nametag on the mailbox downstairs next to his finally changes, Leo Fitz is slightly concerned.

Not that he doesn't want to see a new face, of course. He never did like his previous neighbour, who spent most of his time shouting at sports games, wrestling, and vacuuming, if the noise level was anything to go by. He had a few weeks of blissful peace and now he stares at the name _Simmons_ , trying not to imagine the worst and failing. He sighs as he enters the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor.

There is a pile of what looks like empty boxes outside of his new neighbour's door and he steps around them with a grimace before fishing his keys out of his pocket. He unlocks his door but something catches his eye--a note taped to the door, just under the numbers _517_. His brow furrows as he takes off the piece of stationery and reads it quickly.

_Hello, neighbour!_

_My name is Jemma Simmons and I just moved in. (Obviously.) I've met about half of the people on our floor but you weren't in when I knocked. I thought since we're living next to each other, I should introduce myself. If you're free at 8pm today (9 April), please feel free to knock on my door and we can have tea._

_Sincerely,  
Jemma_

He makes a lot of judgments based on the note, just to entertain himself. There aren't any flowers on the paper, just a sunset, so she could be close to his age. She might be English if she writes her dates like that and she mentioned tea. It'd be nice to have a neighbour from somewhere close to home. Fitz checks his watch and sees that it's just past 6pm, so he has a little less than two hours until he meets this Jemma Simmons.

\-----

 _From: Skye_  
Did you meet our new neighbor yet?

 _From: Fitz_  
Saying hi at 8pm

 _From: Skye_  
I saw the note. I think you'll like her. She reminds me of you.

\-----

He knocks on the door and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, wondering belatedly if he should've gotten a welcoming gift. It was late notice, though, so he dismissed the thought from his mind just as he heard footsteps approaching the door.

When the door opens, Fitz has to fight every urge not to stare, frozen in shock. Jemma Simmons is objectively gorgeous and must be close to his age (confirming his first conclusion), and he has enough issues trying to talk to women when they don't live next door. He somehow manages to get himself to smile, though she looks a bit shocked herself. "Er, hi," he says, reaching out a hand. "I'm Fitz. From next door." He winces and the slight twinkle in her eye tells him that she notices. "I mean, if that wasn't obvious already since it's eight at night and I'm here."

She takes his hand with a grin. "It's nice to meet you, Fitz," she says, and the English accent that spills from her mouth confirms the second conclusion he drew from her note. She lets go of his hand before bringing her hand to her forehead. "Oh, where are my manners? Do come in."

He enters the flat and takes a quick, cursory glance around as he lets his hands settle at his sides. She must've just arrived this morning, but somehow she seems almost entirely unpacked, at least where he can see. Everything is incredibly neat and put together, which is absolutely nothing like his place. "Tea?" He turns to see her standing in the kitchen, two mismatched mugs out on the counter. "I'm afraid tea is all I've got in terms of food and drink at the moment, for which I am so sorry."

Fitz smiles, fidgeting slightly. "Tea would be great." She gestures for him to sit down, so he moves into the front room. There are newspaper articles taped onto one wall and he squints to see what the headlines are--all science-related. He brightens considerably. "Are you interested in science, then?"

She turns to give him a puzzled look when he gestures at the articles. "Oh, those! Yes, I most definitely am. Is Earl Grey all right with you?" He nods and she reaches for the one box in her cabinets. "I'm a biochemist," she adds, in lieu of an explanation. "Pharmacology, for now, but I'm looking into forensics, you know, landing an interview or three."

He raises his eyebrows. "Thank God, at least someone will understand me if I talk science. I'm an engineer. Mechanical, mostly, but sometimes materials, too."

When she brings two steaming mugs and sits down next to him, he thinks maybe he'll think far more highly of his new neighbour.

\-----

Skye passes him in the hallway as he's leaving Jemma's flat that night and she's grinning. "Didn't I tell you that you'd get along?" There's a smug grin on his friend's face and he frowns.

"What is that look even supposed to mean?"

Her grin somehow only widens. "Don't worry about it." She turns away to take the stairs.

He ignores her advice.

\-----

It's strange being so close with your neighbour, he thinks, but it's not like he's ever been normal. In just a few months, Fitz decides that Jemma is likely the closest friend he's ever had in his 27 years of life, which could be sadly indicative of his social life but he takes it as a blessing. They split their time between each other's flats, drinking tea and beer and whatever else they happen to have lying around, discussing the latest scientific journals and arguing about everything and nothing in particular. It's easy to talk to her, he thinks, and he's glad for it.

"The way you take your tea is disgusting, Fitz." Her voice calls him back down to earth and he wrinkles his nose at her when he takes his mug. She sits down with her back against the armrest of her couch, her feet tucked beneath her, facing him and he angles himself toward her.

"Hey, I like nearly choking on sugar," he protests, grinning at her over the lip of his mug. She rolls her eyes.

"I don't know how you don't have some life-threatening illness already. Your metabolism is revolting."

"Please. Skye has already given me enough shite for it, so I've heard it all." She laughs and sips from her mug and he takes her silence to mean the end of that conversation. "I was going to ask about your day, but if you tell me about another dead body, I might be sick. What's on the agenda tonight?"

Jemma purses her lips, lost in thought, and he pushes at her knee with his free hand. "Oy, stop that," she chides, sticking out her tongue at him as though they were children. He briefly wishes they had known each other as children, but he feels like their camaraderie is nearly there anyway. "Being Human, maybe? I can't bring myself to watch any American shows. I think I just miss home a bit still."

He nods his agreement but still manages to show his disgust. "I don't think I can stomach the blood in that. No, don't give me that look! What about Luther?"

She laughs and the sound echoes around the front room, making him jump. "There's blood in that, too. But if you're sure..."

Even though they've both seen the show before, Fitz is still mildly flustered when she curls into his side at the scary bits, but he finds himself not minding it one bit.

\-----

This is bad.

Really, _really_ bad.

Fitz has always been absentminded, and he's lost his keys before. Usually, though, it's in his own flat and he finds them sooner rather than later, not after he's been out at the pub with some colleagues from work and is rather sloshed. He frantically digs through his pockets and only finds his wallet and his phone, no key. He's pretty sure Skye isn't home, so in his clouded judgment, he knocks rather loudly and very clumsily on Jemma's door.

He's leaning against the doorframe when she opens the door in a tank top and shorts and looking very pretty despite the sleepy confusion on her face and for a moment he thinks maybe he wants to kiss her, but then some extraordinarily smart part of him blares a warning into his train of thought. "Fitz? It's two in the bloody morning. What's wrong?"

His face is red from intoxication and embarrassment. "I sort of--I sort of lost my key and no one will be able to get me a copy until the morning. Could I possibly crash on your couch? Just for the night and I swear I won't do this again."

She sighs and rolls her eyes at him before stepping back, opening the door for him. "You're absolutely hopeless, Leopold."

He half-walks, half-stumbles to her couch and flops down stomach first without any preamble before remembering that he's still fully dressed and wearing his sneakers. "Fuck," he curses, sitting back up with some difficulty. "I'm sorry, I should've--should've taken these off at the door." He takes off his shoes and gets up to put them by the shoe rack. Something reminds him of common courtesy and he takes his jacket and beanie off, hanging them on the coat rack before turning back toward the couch.

Jemma watches him, squinting as though she's trying to solve a puzzle. "If you throw up, I'll be exceptionally upset with you, so I'm bringing a trash bin over. There's a spare toothbrush and toothpaste in the top left-hand drawer in the bathroom if you need it, and paracetamol in the cabinet next to the fridge." Her expression softens as she uncrosses her arms and lets them fall to her side. He can't brush away the constant nagging thought that she's beautiful and he might sort of like her. "I'll go write all of that down on a note because there isn't a chance you'll remember all that."

"Thanks, Jem, really. You're a lifesaver."

\-----

In the morning, after Jemma insists on making him breakfast because his hangover must show all over the way his eyes can't open fully and his muscles don't want to cooperate, Fitz finally calls the landlord, who promises that the front desk has spare keys for his place. He can't thank Jemma enough and she waves him away with a hand, even though she's smiling.

It's just his luck that when he leaves, holding his jacket and hat in one hand and closing the door behind him with another, he runs into _Skye_ , of all people.

"Ho-ly _shit_ ," she yells, and he glares at her because despite the painkillers, his head still hurts like hell. "Am I witnessing Leopold Fitz leaving the place of one Jemma Simmons?"

"For fuck's sake, Skye, pipe down," he says, jaw clenched.

" _Please_ tell me you two hooked up."

He can feel the blush rising to his cheeks. "Holy--no, not even close. I lost my key last night and since you weren't home to bother, I had to stay on Jemma's couch."

Skye gives him a shit-eating grin as she walks back to her own door. "Patience, young grasshopper," she says vaguely.

"I'm older than you," he calls after she's already closed the door.

\-----

This is even worse.

Fitz doesn't know exactly _when_ he fell kind of head over heels for Jemma, but it hits him suddenly when she is sitting on the edge of his bed as he tries to sort through what looks like three months worth of laundry but was really more like one and a half. He had done it at her insistence, really, and he is still grumbling because of it.

He looks up at her haphazardly because she's talking about some new corpse that came in this morning and how chemicals had destroyed most of it and she just looks so happy that he can't help but smile. Usually, his stomach would be turning and perhaps it was, but it wasn't _entirely_ unpleasant.

"--and I know you'd absolutely hate it and find it so utterly revolting that you'd likely throw up, but someone went to great lengths to hide the identity of the victim." Her brow furrows for a moment. "Fitz? Is something wrong?"

He jumps. Was he staring? He can feel the blood rising to his cheeks and he shakes his head, shrugging one shoulder as he sorts through his socks. "Nothing, just in awe as to how rotten bodies make you light up. It makes no sense whatsoever."

She chews on her lower lip, looking contemplative before she smiles. "There are many things about you that don't make sense, either, so I suppose we're even. Besides, I'm an open book."

\-----

 _From: Fitz_  
So... Jemma has a guy over

 _From: Skye_  
Wait, what?

 _From: Fitz_  
You heard me. Well, read?

 _From: Skye_  
Jesus fucking Christ, Fitz, I told you to get over yourself. Maybe it's too late to be Fitzsimmons.

 _From: Fitz_  
Oh, shut up

\-----

"His name is Trip and I'm pretty sure he _isn't_ with Simmons, based on just how hard he was flirting with me in the hallway."

" _What?_ So she's... She's not taken?"

"For a certified genius, you can be such a fucking moron sometimes, Fitz."

"Oh, shit, there's someone at the door. Hanging up!"

Fitz shoves his mobile into his pocket before he trips his way to the door, swinging it open to see Jemma standing there in a blue dress, holding out her hand expectantly. He stares because she is beautiful and he has been a huge idiot this whole time, but his brow furrows in confusion as he looks down at her hand.

"Come out with me, Fitz," she says, as though it's the simplest thing in the world and the smile on her face is lighting up the entire hall. "I thought maybe if I dressed up and insisted, you'd have to leave your flat. I'm tired of dancing around my feelings and Skye and Trip both told me to just go for it, so... Well, here I am."

He is dumbstruck and his jaw doesn't seem to want to cooperate for several seconds. "You... You want to go on a date? With me?"

She laughs, her hand dropping to her side. "Oh, Fitz. Yes, very much so."

He reaches for her hand, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, give me a minute to change."

\-----

**A YEAR LATER**

Jemma sighs against Fitz's neck and he grins. He has never been so happy in his entire life and perhaps he has a rather idiotic look on his face but he doesn't care. "You smell nice," she murmurs, exhaustion colouring her voice.

He laughs, toying with the ends of her hair. "And you smell a bit like morgue," he replies, wrinkling his nose and yelping when she hits his side.

"It's difficult to remove all traces of formaldehyde from oneself, prat," she says, poking him hard in the stomach.

"OY, watch it, Simmons!"

" _You_ watch it, Leopold."

His mobile buzzes from the nightstand and he frowns, reaching his arm back to pick it up.

 _From: Skye_  
You two are disgusting. Fucking adorable, but disgusting.

He laughs and shows the message to Jemma, who grins. "Thank you, Skye!" she calls through the wall before giggling quietly.

She looks so beautiful next to him, he thinks, and he doesn't know what he did to deserve her, but he is thankful. Truly thankful. He stares down at her and she returns his gaze, raising an eyebrow. "You know, we spend enough time at each other's flats... Maybe we should just move into one and save ourselves the trouble." He touches his forehead to hers, looking down at their intertwined fingers, the mobile dropped between them.

Jemma lets go and places her hand against his cheek and he looks up to see how hopeful she looks and it makes his heart swell. "Yeah? I'd like that, Fitz."

She tilts her head up to kiss him and he smiles against her mouth, his hand resting against her hip to pull her closer. The mobile buzzes between them and they both jump back.

 _From: Skye_  
And I love you both dearly, but for the love of GOD, get your places soundproofed.

 _From: Skye_  
You two are really loud.


End file.
